


Sword Spirit Succession

by cerame



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Four Sword - Freeform, Gen, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), Sword Spirits - Freeform, mentions of broken bones, sword spirit Vaati, the other boys make appearances but aren't too important
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:41:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24373723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerame/pseuds/cerame
Summary: A little known fact was that the Picori Blade once had a sword spirit. When the Wind Mage Vaati shattered the sword, the spirit had to choose a new sword spirit for the Four Sword.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 191





	Sword Spirit Succession

There was nothing.

Nothing to see except for the emptiness, nothing to hear except for his own faint breathing, nothing to taste but his own saliva, nothing to feel but his own body, nothing to smell but himself.

Vaati floated in the nothingness. He didn’t think being sealed in a sword would be this dreadfully boring. That child, against all odds, found the four elements and reforged the Picori Blade. Vaati stewed in his anger until he couldn’t any longer, and then, he screamed.

“For Hylia’s sake, shut up.”

Vaati startled. He looked around for the source of the voice, and when his eyes landed upon a minish, small and metallic with shatter marks scattered across its being, he sneered.

“And who are you?” he scoffed. “Trapped in this cursed blade, too, hm?”

“Not trapped,” the minish said, its blank eyes staring at Vaati unblinkingly. “I am Pikiko, the sword spirit of the Picori Blade. You shattered me, so I am dying.”

Vaati wanted to taunt it, but he had always been a pursuer of knowledge. Knowledge was power, after all. He wasn’t stupid, so he stayed quiet to hear more.

“The Picori Blade is no more,” the minish continued. A tiny sliver of metal fell from its cheek and disappeared into the nothingness that surrounded them. “There is only the Four Sword now, forged of my remains and the four elements. I have only stuck around for so long to grant this blade with a new spirit.”

“And how would you even create a new sword spirit?” Vaati asked. “Or… whatever you do to get a new one?”

“Well, they are usually formed when blessed,” Pikiko said. He hopped up and flew, stopping in front of Vaati’s nose. Vaati floated backward, disgusted to be touched by something that so resembled one of those puny, altruistic  _ mice _ , but it meant nothing to the minish. “But you see, I was just barely held together when reforged, and then the elements turned this blade into a home I could not inhabit. That means that I must do what I must do.”

“What does that even mean? Stop speaking in riddles.”

“It means,” he said, putting a hand on the tip of Vaati’s nose, “that you must take my place, little one.”

Vaati opened his mouth to retort that, hell no, he wasn’t going to become a sword spirit, especially not to this sword, but before he could, the minish  _ shattered _ into pieces. A clawed hand of ice and fire and wind and stone reached into his chest and wrapped around his heart--no, his soul, and squeezed and expanded and meshed and melded. Something hot and cold and acidic tore from him, and his body grew hard and cold. His lungs and heart stopped, his clothes shifted, changing, and power and ages of information  _ rushed _ into him.

In any other situation, he would be elated to be given such power, but… the greed was gone. Gone was the boy who craved more validation and recognition than should be expected of anyone. Gone was the boy who stole from his master and tried to take over a nation. All that was left was the boy who was proud of his work, who sought to learn from his master, who was once a minish.

All that was left was that boy and the data banks of Pikiko, the spirit of the Picori Sword.

The Sword that he had shattered.

He collapsed to his knees, hands now obscured by long cloth coming up to cover his mouth. Emotions he had never felt before coursed through him as memories of shattering the sword and Pikiko himself shattering played over and over in his head.

_ Regret, remorse, nausea _ , the data banks supplied for him.

Numbers and letters ran through his mind, and he knew that the him of before would have never been able to conceive of these thoughts, this data, the  _ processing _ .

“ **_A mockery._ ** ”

He looked up, silver hair cascading over the left half of his face and golden silk falling from his shoulders. Before him floated a cloud of black and red, of ice and flames, of hatred and malice, and out of the cloud stared a single, crimson, golden-rimmed eye.

“I am not a mockery,” he said, the very cadence of his voice different from before.

It was the same voice, but so, so different, because every dark part of him was gone. Every dark part of him had been separated from his soul, leaving behind the sword spirit of gold and silver, the spirit of air, earth, fire, and water in their purest forms, and it formed this, the cloud--

_ Demise’s hatred. _

The evidence of the reincarnation cycle. The legends and myths were embedded in his data banks as truths with so, so many more details than Ezlo had ever dreamed of. He knew of the Master Sword, left deep in the forests to the southeast. He knew of the curse, of the cycle of princess-hero-evil.

He knew of his duty as sword spirit, and much to his own surprise, he didn’t mind. An anger of his own bubbled up in his chest. He could get revenge of his own.

“You ruined me,” he said, getting to his feet. “You’re why I couldn’t be happy.”

The cloud didn’t answer. Instead, it surged toward him. Data flew before his eyes, reading out what he could do, how, and various possibilities. He threw up his hands, silver sleeves hemmed with red, green, blue, and purple fluttering with his movements, and the colors of the hems surged forward, water and fire, air and earth, all mixing and blending into chains of shining light. The chains flew forward and wrapped around the cloud, binding it and draining it of its power.

“ **_YOU_ ** ,” the cloud thundered with every ounce of hatred that Vaati himself no longer had.

“You are a prisoner here,” he said simply, “and I am your jailer.”

The odds of the cloud eventually breaking free were absurdly high, but so were the chances of Link drawing him once again. The chances of the boy succeeding were also high, but, of course, there was always the chance he’d fail.

When the monster broke out like he knew it would, Vaati didn’t have to wait long for the Four Sword to be drawn. He knew it was coming, as was the nature of his blade, but when the boy’s soul was torn into quarters, Vaati was split, too, and his screams intertwined with Link’s.

His manifestations were of swirling winds, of cobbled clay and stone, of ice and spring water, of fire and smoke. Every part of him watched every part of Link, and while he so dearly wanted to scream at the boy to watch out, to figure out the trick to the enemy already, to be  _ careful for once in your Nayru-forsaken life _ , he kept quiet and served his purpose.

Well, he kept quiet outside the sword. Inside, he kept up a running commentary of snark and salt. He gasped at the betrayal, threatened to crush Shadow with rock when he found out about his existence, spoke with Zelda and apologized when she found him, mourned Shadow along with the Colors, and sobbed in relief when the darkness was killed. The darkness was put to rest to lay dormant for another few centuries.

Vaati celebrated when Link merged into himself once more, set away in the pedestal. His job was done, and there was no more risk of being forced to reveal himself… or so he thought.

As his blade moved against stone, released to the air once more, he woke with a start. Confusion flooded through him. Condition: 95%... make that 97%. Link had just brushed some dirt and dust off the hilt. A quick search told him there was no evil in the nearby area, only the sacred lights of Link and Zelda. The Four Sword was put in its sheath, so Vaati scanned his surroundings as Link set off. 

They passed through Castle Town, and once they left the southern gates, Vaati felt something new and different but still familiar nonetheless. He would later listen and learn this presence was a group of heroes like Link from across time and space, all named Link. The Smithy, they called the boy.

Vaati laughed. It was simple, but it was nothing if not accurate. He watched, and then he got a visitor.

“Hello,” said the girl of blue and purple.

“Hello,” Vaati answered. No one else had been in the sword with him for so long. He didn’t really know what to do. “Who are you?”

“I am Fi, the spirit inside the Master Sword,” she said. Oh. Of course.

“I am Vaati, the spirit of the Four Sword,” Vaati said. “I was once a reincarnation of Demise’s hatred, but the spirit of the sword used to forge this one separated the hatred from my soul and turned me into a sword spirit.”

Fi stared at him for a moment. He assumed she was organizing her data banks. Vaati needed the time to sort through this data, too. He had never been in contact with another sword spirit before, and there was so much to process.

“Why do you not speak to your master?” she asked.

“He would hate me,” Vaati said simply. Then, he scowled. “He’s not my master, anyway. He’s my forger and wielder, nothing more and nothing less.” He huffed. No air came from his mouth, as usual. “So? What about you? Why do you refuse to speak with any of your other “masters” apart from the bird boy?”

“As the one who tempered me with the sacred flames of the golden goddesses, the one my masters have dubbed as “Sky” can hear me with ease,” Fi said. “The others, however, are from times where I am weakened due to my work destroying Demise. They could not hear me if I tried during their adventures, and now, they will not appreciate hearing my words. There is an 82% possibility that at least one will react badly.”

Vaati would call her out on her own bullshit, for he knew shame and fear intimately, but he himself was still struggling with it. He wasn’t a huge fan of hypocrisy, not even before Demise’s hatred had been torn from him.

“If you say so,” he said.

“I sense sarcasm and salt from you.”

“You’d be correct.”

The smallest smile flickered across her face, and Vaati huffed out a breathy laugh.

“So you do know how to laugh, huh?”

“Correct. I have information in my data banks on laughter.”

Vaati rolled his eyes. “Buzzkill.”

After a moment Fi disappeared, and Vaati was once again alone in his blade. He felt Fi’s presence nearby, most of the time. He felt the dark magic behind the boy who was the wolf, and he reveled in the familiar magic of nature that washed over him every time the Smithy shrunk down to minish size. He listened to quiet conversations, loud laughter around the campfire, and the sniffles and cries fueled by nightmares. He watched the group grow from strangers to brothers, and he kept an eye on every fight.

Again, he found himself spewing a running commentary.

Then, they went to the time period of the one who refused to wear pants, and suddenly, Vaati was bombarded with strings of data that turned into memories of a time that hadn’t yet happened. Unfathomable pain flooded through him, poor Link’s soul splitting between blades and darkening and  _ killing him _ .

All the Smithy noticed was a scream of agony, as phantom as the pain was. He asked if the others heard it. They said no. He decided he must be hearing things and continued on.

Vaati spent the rest of their time in that era sorting through the centuries of data that insisted on slipping through his fingers every time I tried to grab it. He decided it would’ve been a lot easier to deal with if he was humanoid again and didn’t think in numbers all the time.

Then came the day when a certain percentage he had kept his eye on ticked up and didn’t stop growing.

The wild child’s world was a death trap, in Vaati’s humble opinion. Monster camps everywhere, climates that would burn or freeze you to death in mere minutes, and the monsters who were stronger than boss monsters. Vaati made sure to imbue the Four Sword with the tiniest bit of additional bite whenever they were here. He knew that the heroes could take care of themselves, but there was always the possibility of failure, and considering the number of fights that came their way, it was only a matter of time before something went horribly, horribly wrong.

And he was right.

The fight was… bad, to put it lightly. The boys had not only run into one guardian, but three, plus another one missing its legs. The wild child had summoned old powers of earth and fire at the last second to protect the young pirate from two simultaneous beams. The beams had miraculously been sent back, destroying the two guardians, but the kick was too much for him, knocking him out. He crumpled to the ground, leaving the sailor and the farmboy to panic, rushing to his side.

The resident healer, the caveboy, had been separated, whaling down on one of the guardians with the sky child and his successor, the pantless boy, and the captain and Vaati’s own charge were taking care of the other one. The armored one, the eldest of the lot, kept his eye on both guardians, ready to jump in if any of them needed help, though his eye kept flickering back to the two around the wild child.

What none of them noticed, much to Vaati’s regret, was the golden lynel that had noticed them half a mile away.

It crashed through the trees with a great roar just as one of the two guardians fizzed, sparked, and collapsed. Vaati groaned to himself. At least it was Smithy’s guardian who had fallen. That meant that his wielder was free to fight the lynel. There was that, at least.

It took a couple minutes for the other guardian to go down, but it had gotten a lucky hit on the pantless boy’s side, and the caveboy was working himself into a panic healing him. The veteran kept trying to get the traveler to stop, but the traveler ignored him. The Old Man jumped in to help the sky child. If Vaati hadn’t been focused on his own wielder’s fight, he would’ve rolled his eyes. Stupid boys. Accept the help, then help him back by forcing a magic potion down his throat, easy.

Though… that was easier said than done, if his experience with his own wielder’s parts taught him anything about heroes.

The lynel roared, and Smithy didn’t dodge quickly enough. The club smashed into his side, flinging him away. The captain charged in toward the lynel, and there was a scream of “SMITHY!” from across the battlefield. Vaati scanned his wielder and detected seven broken ribs, plenty of internal bleeding, and what would turn into a concussion if he didn’t get up soon. His ankle had been twisted the wrong way when he hit the ground, and there was a fracture in his clavicle and humerus.

He breathed a sigh of relief. His charge would live if the wounds were seen to after the battle.

Vaati reached the scans out to his surroundings. The forest was right behind them, the wild child had been dragged out of the way, the sailor watching over him. The rancher had run toward the lynel, then noticed where the smithy was and was now running toward them. The bird boy and the armored man were taking on the lynel, now. The veteran had passed out, and the traveler was close to passing out, himself. Darkness laid beyond the trees.

Wait, what?

Vaati gasped. There had to be dozens moblins and bokoblins approaching through the trees. They were close, and it wouldn’t take long for them to reach the struggling heroes.

“Fucking Dark Link,” Vaati growled. For once, he didn’t bother veiling his voice from his wielder. Link would probably just assume it was one of the colors, anyway.

He weighed the possibilities, calculations running over and over in his head. The rancher wouldn’t be able to handle the monsters by himself. The others were taking on the lynel. Three--no, four, now--of them were out for the count, one was guarding three of the unconscious (the Sailor had dragged the wild child over to the veteran and the traveler now, good), and unless the three fighting the lynel manage to whip out a game-changer, the possibilities of at least one hero falling to the monsters was worryingly high.

He could feel the worry emanating from Fi, but she had more faith in these boys and men than Vaati did. A healthy dose of cynicism never hurt, after all.

“R-Ranch...er?” his charge rasped. The rancher had finally reached him.

“How are you feeling?” the rancher asked quietly. “Where are you hurt? How bad is it?”

“... Side,” his charge grunted. “Bad.”

“You’ll be okay,” the rancher said. “Just stay with me, ok?”

The monsters were closing in, and the stupid farm boy hadn’t noticed yet. Vaati didn’t even know if he could, but he reached out, searching for--there.

_ Watch out _ , he projected into the rancher’s mind.  _ Monsters in the forest. _

The rancher startled at the voice, but he looked up and finally,  _ finally _ noticed the monsters. He drew his sword and shield and put himself between the trees and the smithy.

Huh. So Vaati could speak to others. Good to know.

He had bought more time for his wielder. Still, the percentage didn’t go down. As bokoblins and moblins fell at the hands of the rancher and the lynel began to stagger from its wounds, the heroes tired. The rancher was being forced back and was only two feet away from tripping over the smithy. The ones fighting the lynel were reaching the point of exhaustion, slowly but surely, and the sailor had only just joined them.

Two cries rang out at the same time. One was a roar from the gold lynel as it fell, but the other was a panicked yelp as the rancher was pushed back by a moblin. He stumbled back, tripping over the smithy, who had been trying to pick himself back up.

The rancher’s sword had been knocked from his hand when he fell. The smithy had been knocked back down to the ground when the rancher tripped over him, ripping a cry of pain from his throat. The other heroes ran toward them, but they were too slow. Far too slow. A white moblin raised its bone-encrusted club up. The other monsters were close behind, clubs and blades ready to hit, to beat, to kill.

The numbers, the calculations, the probabilities--there was only one solution if Vaati wanted to keep his wielder, his forger, his charge alive.

For the first time since he had been transformed into the sword spirit of the Four Sword, he manifested. In a swirl of silver and gold, he twisted into existence, and without a second of hesitation, he pulled on the earth, the air, the fire, the water forged into his very being, and he released.

The air twisted into smoke into fire. Water drew itself from the ground, leaving behind clumps of compressed, dry dirt. These three elements flew toward the monsters, taking out half of them, and close behind them was an element his old self had been most familiar with--wind. Smoke smothered the monsters, and fire burned at their hides. Water threatened to drown them on land, and ice froze their feet in place. Great clumps of dirt and rock beat and battered at the minions of Ganon, and twisting blades of wind and billowing gales cut and buffeted at the monsters.

Drained, he lowered his arms. If he were still mortal, he would’ve been panting with the exertion of the magic. The colors at the ends of his sleeves swirled and twisted for a moment longer before settling back into their usual slanted lines.

The other heroes finally reached them and took out the rest of the monsters. It didn’t take long, as many had been burnt, frozen, stoned, or partway sliced to ribbons. Then, once the last one was dead, they turned to Vaati.

“Thank you,” he said simply before returning to the Four Sword.

“A sword spirit,” the sky child whispered, his grip around the Master Sword tightening as his eyes widened.

And now, Vaati could rest. The Four Sword wasn’t as strong as the Master Sword, after all. He had a fraction of its sealing power and none of its holy power. All he had were the elements, and he had just exhausted himself.

A short nap couldn’t hurt.

* * *

Four groaned. The colors were unsynced, but it was nothing that hadn’t happened before. His side ached, but his shoulder and head no longer hurt. There was a wooden roof over his head, so they must have won the fight. Good.

With a wince from Vio, Green and Red propped him up into a sitting position. Blue spotted the bandages that wrapped around his chest and the Four Sword, which had been set off to the side in its sheath. It leaned against the bed, along with his shield. His tunics and boots were neatly set on the end of the bed. There was birdsong and sunlight. Four had been in the Champion’s Hyrule enough to recognize this place as a stable.

The vet’s things leaned against the bed to his right, and the traveler was passed out in the chair next to it. The colored giggled to each other. The vet must have snuck away for some fresh air when the traveler fell asleep. At a small table sat the rancher, the old man, and the champion, and outside, he could see Sky clinging desperately onto the back of a horse while the captain and the sailor laughed at his expense.

“Smithy!”

Oh, thanks, Champion. Four really wanted to be noticed right now.

The old man and the rancher got up, and soon, the three were at the end of the bed. Well, the champion and the old man were. The rancher knelt at the side of the bed, concern written all over his face.

“How are you feeling, Smithy?” the old man asked.

“Like I got hit by a pillar,” he chuckled. “What did I miss?”

“Well, the monsters are dead,” the rancher offered with a relieved smile. “The lynel had black blood, but they got it in the end. We had to get you to swallow red potions while unconscious since you had so many broken bones, though, and only the captain knew how to do that safely.”

“There was also a person from your sword,” the Old Man added, and suddenly, nothing made sense. “Sky called it a sword spirit. He said that the Master Sword has one.”

“A… a sword spirit?” Four asked, and he saw something he couldn’t identify cross over his friends’ faces. “I don’t know anything about sword spirits. I’ve never even heard of those.”

“It was gold and silver,” the rancher said. “Long hair and a cape. The ends of their sleeves were red, green, blue, and purple, and it used elemental magic to protect us long enough for the Old Man, Sky, and the Captain to get to us.”

A person was in his sword this whole time, and he didn’t know it. That was… a bit concerning. He didn’t remember forging a person into his blade.

“It went back into your sword once all the monsters were dead,” the old man said, answering a question Four hadn’t asked.

It wouldn’t be until a couple days’ worth of healing at the stable that Four would be able to take his sword and get away from the others. He tucked himself under a bent tree in the woods behind the stable and took out the Four Sword. In the sunlight that shone past the leaves of the tree, the blade gleamed subtly in the four colors he knew so well.

Nothing felt different about it.

“Are you in there?” he asked quietly, his voice sounding far too loud in the forest, even with the chirping crickets and the singing birds. “The others said there was someone in this sword. Is it true? Can I meet you?”

All that met him was silence. Four waited for a few moments longer, and when he was met with nothing, he let disappointment wash over him. He went to put the sword back in its sheath, but then he heard a chime. The gem in the guard pulsed faintly, swirling its four colors briefly. Four put the sheath away.

“Is that you?”

Then, gold and silver flew past him, springing up from the blade, and suddenly, there was a person floating before him, clothed in silver and gold. Shimmering gold cascaded down over silver-clad shoulders and too-long sleeves. A familiar gem of colors was embedded in his upper chest, and bandages wrapped around his legs and upper arms, like the handle of the Four Sword. Faint shades and tints of red, green, blue, and violet shimmered across his entire being.

However, the golden, metallic face under the long, silky, silver hair was far too familiar for Four. He leapt to his feet, and without hesitation, he stabbed Vaati.

Vaati looked down at the blade, then looked back at Four. Even with half his face obscured by hair and without irises or pupils, he did a magnificent job at looking extremely unimpressed. The sword slowly slid out of his chest and fell to the grassy floor, leaving behind not even a hint of a hole.

“Don’t stab me with myself, Link,” Vaati said flatly.

“Vaati,” Four growled. “How are you--what--when were you a sword spirit?  _ How _ are you a sword spirit? Have you been here this whole time? Wha--I thought I killed you!”

“You killed a _part_ of me,” Vaati said, expression smoothing out into something carefully neutral. “The spirit of the Picori Blade was still present when I was sealed into the Four Sword, so he turned me into this and separated the evil from me. You killed the evil, but I have been here the whole time.”

Four frowned and opened his mouth.

“Yes, that means I’ve seen every time you did something stupid,” Vaati said, expresison going flat again, though a smirk tugged at his mouth.

Four’s mouth clicked shut.

“The ploy with Shadow was smart, though,” Vaati continued, shrugging and seeming so much more human than before. “Though... after you killed my darkness, I thought I would never be drawn again.”

“Why didn’t you ever show yourself before?” Four asked, glaring at the spirit who shared a face with his greatest enemy.

“Because I knew you’d react like that,” Vaati said, nodding toward the sword on the ground. “I feared what you would do. I saw what happened to Pikiko, the spirit before me, when I shattered his blade. Besides, it’s hard to travel with someone for so long and watch them in their times of greatest need and their moments of glory and not get attached in some way, even for a sword spirit.”

“If you’re Vaati, then why did you fight for us?” Four questioned. “You should hate me. I fought you. I hurt you.”

“You are my wielder, my forger, and my charge. It is my duty to assist you. That is why I acted to protect you,” Vaati said, his expression softening. It was perhaps one of the oddest things Four had ever seen, and he had seen the champion eat a cooked rock. “If I hadn’t, there was a high probability of someone dying.”

“Do you do this willingly, though? Are you forced to--to serve me?” Four asked, desperation leaking into his voice. Vaati was quiet for a moment, then muttered something Four couldn’t hear. He cleared his throat, then spoke louder.

“At first, no, I didn’t want to help you,” Vaati said slowly, raising a sleeve to his chin. “At some point, I believe I grew fond of you. Somewhere between the death-defying stunts and learning to get along with yourself, I think. Then, I just knew I had to make sure you lived.”

Four didn’t know what to say. He lowered himself back to the ground, drawing the Four Sword into his lap. Vaati didn’t say anything. He floated silently, watching Four stare blankly at the ground, his eyes flashing between colors as he tried to process this.

“I… I guess I should thank you,” Four said quietly.

Then, Vaati laughed, and for once, it contained none of the bitter malice Four had always heard before. This was the innocent, genuine laugh of a teenager. He sounded like any normal hylian.

“Consider us even,” he said as his giggles tapered out. “In a way, you saved me, too.”

Four gave a small smile, eyes shifting through the four colors that had defined his adventures.

“Even,” he murmured. He smiled. “Yeah. I can do even.”

There was a comfortable silence for a few moments.

Then, Vaati said, “Now that you know about me, I will be sharing my running commentary on your adventures with you. Goddesses know how much I have to say about shield-surfing down Death Mountain, among various other things you stupid heroes do.”

Four laughed. He already had voices in his head.

What’s one more?

**Author's Note:**

> On the LU discord, we were talking about sword spirits, and the idea of Vaati being the spirit of the Four Sword was just so *chef's kiss* that I had to write something.


End file.
